The trees, in the middle of May, are just beginning to leaf out, as their catkins rain down on the footpath that has emerged from old wheel tracks along the ditch. Two Swainson's hawks arrive and angle over the field. Their strikingly marked underwings – light feathers on the leading edge, dark feathers trailing – and their dark throat feathers are easily seen as they glide.
I live nearby and walk the path some mornings and drive by the field when going to work and coming home. One morning I watch the hawks mating in one of the cottonwoods. Soon, they are gathering sticks and weaving a nest in a cluster of branches near the top of one tree in a group of five slim, high-reaching trunks. The leaves are getting larger, and crowns fully clothed, in all but their choice of tree.
I wonder at their choice and if it was a conscious choice. Could they have known that this tree would not have leaves? Did they want hot sunshine beating down on the nest at all hours of the day? Two years ago, after first moving to this area and walking up the other side of the field, I discovered a pair of hawks had raised a family. Only by hearing the young cries clear across the field was I made aware of their existence, for the nest was well-hidden among the upper crown of a well-leafed cottonwood.
This year's nest is fully exposed. Driving south on Huron between 115th and 114th, I see it clearly. I wonder if anyone else watches. An automotive shop and gas station on the corner have a first row seat. So does the do-it-yourself carwash beside it. The sidewalks on both sides of Huron offer a great view. Does anyone besides me notice the hawks occasionally crossing the street to hunt among the backyards?
I watch the nest until I leave in early June for vacation, but I don't actually see a hawk sitting on it. Sometimes there is one on a nearby branch. It's the first thing I look for—is there a lump on the branch? If there is, grab the binoculars. I realize that I have not seen both hawks at the same time, and I wonder if one of the hawks left for another mate, another place, or was killed, since I have not seen a hawk on the nest.
I return after more than three weeks, and a few days later, as I drive down Huron, I watch both hawks fling themselves across the sky. My heart bounds—yes! They are both here. I 'glass' the nest and see no activity. When I walk the little path beneath the tree, I hear no sounds of nestlings. Nearly all of July passes, and still I see only one hawk perched on one of the bare branches at times.
I am coming home from work about the end of the third week of July. When I slow down to turn onto 115th, I look quickly over my left shoulder at the perfect silhouette of the nest. There are two tall lumps on it! I turn and then turn quickly into the auto place and stop, facing the line of trees across Huron. Binoculars up and the tall lumps turn into scrawny-necked but otherwise fully-fledged hawklings. Wonderful! The sweep of joy runs through me!
They did it! One adult bird is, again, perched on a nearby branch. That nest must have been deep enough so that I could not see a bird sitting on eggs, but one must have been all during those hot, mid-90 degree days in June and early July.
A couple days later, I walk the little path. The fledglings sit in the nest, and an adult again perches on a nearby branch as I go past the tree. When I reach the end of the field, I turn back and as I get close to the nest tree, I see a few small birds are harassing the adult. It takes off and is repeatedly attacked by one of these birds. Then the other adult flies in, and the first begins circling over me, still being attacked. I turn back yet again and retreat from their space, walking home a different way. What beauty in the sweep of their winged flight! What a shame that the small bird would not leave the bird alone.
A week goes by, then I walk along the opposite side of the field. I swing the binoculars up and see both adults perched on lower branches. Above, in the nest, a hooked-beaked young one looks out.
I wish them well...and blessings on their hunts.